When I was cornered in that rain-slicked alley by two men who smelled like cheap whiskey and bad intentions, my boyfriend was standing in a downpour half a town away, holding an umbrella over his heart-broken ex. He ignored three of my calls before turning off his phone entirely. Weeks later, he would stand beneath my apartment window in the pouring rain, waiting night after night for half a month just to catch a glimpse of my face. Back then, he was still naive enough to believe I was still alive. … It was my twenty-first birthday, and Darren had promised to take me to the movies. Halfway through the film, his phone lit up on the cup holder between us. He buzzed off the vibration, leaned over, and whispered that he needed to step out to take a call. He slipped back into the dark theater right during the climax—the cinematic moment when the lead actor finally pulls the woman he loves into a sweeping, desperate kiss. The atmosphere in the dark room was electric. Darren leaned close, his shadow blocking out the silver screen. I thought he was going to kiss me. My heart started hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Instead, his breath brushed against my ear, cold and detached. "Sandra's back," he murmured. "Her boyfriend just dumped her." My stomach plummeted into a cold, bottomless pit. "And?" my voice barely carried over the movie score. "What does that have to do with you?" Sandra had come back into town on Darren's birthday, three months ago. That had been the third birthday I’d spent with him, and the first since we graduated college. I had spent two sleepless days running around town, personally setting up the venue, hanging lights, making sure every detail was perfect. When Darren arrived, he had smiled that lazy, charismatic smile of his, wrapped his arms around my waist, and pressed a light kiss to my cheek. "Thanks, babe," he’d said softly. "I love it." We were in the middle of laughing with friends when his buddy Chad nudged his shoulder, grinning toward the front door. "Look who showed up." I turned, confused. "Who is it?" The heavy oak door swung open, revealing a girl standing under the entryway light. She was effortless, framed by soft curls and wearing a sweet, knowing smile. "Darren," she said softly. "Long time no see." In an instant, Darren's usual nonchalance melted away. His eyes lit up with a raw, brilliant intensity I had never seen before—a spark far brighter than anything I had managed to ignite all evening. "When did you get back?" he asked, stepping toward her like drawn by a tide. "I missed your birthday for three years," she replied, holding his gaze. "I thought I'd come home and surprise you." They locked eyes, standing at opposite ends of the crowded room. It was like watching a scene from a romantic drama—the long-lost soulmates finally reunited. Underneath the table, my newly manicured nails dug so hard into my palms that they nearly broke the skin. I forced a bright smile onto my face, walked over, and slid my arm firmly around Darren's. "Darren, who’s your friend?" In that split second, I felt like the villain in someone else's love story. "This is Sandra," Darren said, his voice tight. "We went to high school together." Sandra looked at me, her eyes sparkling with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Oh! You're his girlfriend! You're gorgeous. Wow, you two look so amazing together." "Thanks," I replied smoothly, leaning into Darren's side. "Everyone says that. Right, babe?" I looked up at Darren, expecting reassurance. But his gaze flickered, dodging mine entirely. Every second that ticked by felt like a tiny, deliberate cut. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Darren cleared his throat. "Yeah. This is Kallie. I chased her for six months before she gave me a chance." Darren and I had been together for three years. I had fallen for him during my freshman year of college, but I was never the girl who made the first move. I was quiet, cautious, and fully prepared to let my secret crush fade into nothingness. Then he came into my life. He was the golden boy on campus—charming, effortlessly wealthy, surrounded by admirers, but never tethered to anyone. During a varsity basketball game in our junior year, I showed up at the court carrying a giant three-liter jug of water for him, drawing amused stares from the entire bleachers. A few days later, he tracked me down in the quad, flashed a crooked smile, and said, "Want to give this a shot, Kallie Palmer?" It felt like a fairytale. The guy I thought was entirely out of my reach was suddenly pursuing me. I didn't hesitate. I fell headfirst. For three years, we were the ideal couple. We shared late-night diner runs, heavy winter coats traded off in the snow, and quiet mornings. When I asked him to change his phone lock screen to a photo of us, he did. When I was double-folded on the couch with severe period cramps, he brought me warm ginger tea and hot water bottles. My friends always told me how lucky I was. They said I was the girl who had finally tamed the playboy. He cared enough, and I was naive enough to think that was love. Until Sandra came back. That was when I realized how little of his heart I actually possessed. ... Later that night, the birthday cake was brought out—a customized two-tier cake topped with a numeric "21" candle and two tiny, hand-painted sugar figurines holding hands, meant to represent Darren and me. Sandra eagerly volunteered to slice the cake. She picked up the plastic knife and cut straight down the middle—right between the hand-painted figures, severing our joined hands. I couldn't stop the sharpness from slipping into my voice. "Did you really have to cut it right there? Out of the entire cake, you had to slice through the exact spot where we're holding hands?" Sandra flinched back, her eyes instantly brimming with hurt. "I'm so sorry, Kallie. I didn't even look... I was just slicing blindly. I didn't mean anything by it..." She looked small, fragile, and deeply pathetic, making me look like a bitter, overbearing bully in a room full of our friends. "Kallie, it's just two sugar figures," Darren said softly, reaching out to gently mess up my hair. His eyes were wide and tender as he looked at me. "Don't be like that, okay?" I backed down. I forced a polite laugh and nodded. "Fine." It took me a long time to realize that the tenderness in his eyes that night wasn't meant for me. He wasn't trying to soothe my hurt. He was trying to protect Sandra from feeling uncomfortable. He didn't want her to look bad in front of everyone. The custom cake toppers I had spent hours designing were entirely disposable to him—because the girl standing beside him was the only thing that mattered. I hated myself for not seeing it then. ... The next night, Darren mentioned that a few of his old high school buddies were grabbing drinks at a lounge downtown and asked if I wanted to come along. I went. Naturally, Sandra was there. "Hey, Kallie," she greeted me smoothly. She was wearing a slinky, backless cocktail dress that showed off her delicate frame. When she saw me, her eyes flickered with a brief flash of annoyance. I was wearing high-waisted shorts that highlighted my long legs—legs that blew hers out of the water. On the night of Darren's birthday, I had dressed down in baggy overalls to help move furniture and set up decorations. Tonight, I looked like I belonged. During drinks, one of the guys tried to pour Sandra a shot of tequila. Darren immediately reached across the table and intercepted the glass. "She doesn't drink," he said sternly, calling the server over to order her a warm fruit tea instead. Sandra smiled sweetly across the table at me, raising her cup. "Well, Kallie, let me toast with tea then. Here's to you and Darren—may you two last forever." I have extremely sensitive teeth; icy drinks give me unbearable nerve pain. I had taken Darren to the dentist with me months ago, but he had clearly forgotten. If he hadn't jumped in so heroically to protect Sandra from a single shot of alcohol, I might have let it go. Instead, I picked up my pint glass full of draft beer and downed the entire thing in front of him. The icy liquid hit my molars, sending a agonizing, electric shock of pain straight up into my jaw. I clenched my fists under the table, forcing my face to stay completely neutral. It took Darren several minutes to notice. "Take it easy on the cold stuff," he muttered offhandedly. "You know your teeth are sensitive." Then he ordered a bottle of room-temperature water for me. But I had already drunk two glasses of ice beer. Across the table, Sandra leaned in, her voice dripping with nostalgic affection. "Do you guys remember that old diner on Elm Street we used to sneak out to during junior year?" "Yeah," Darren chuckled softly. "Of course." "We should totally go back sometime," Sandra sighed. "I miss high school so much. I miss how wild we were back then." They fell into an effortless back-and-forth, laughing over shared memories, late-night high school pranks, and inside jokes from a time in Darren's life I had never been part of. I sat right beside him, unable to contribute a single sentence. I was a ghost at the table, wearing a painted-on smile. "You okay, babe?" Darren wrapped an arm around my waist, rubbing my shoulder. "You look tired." In that moment, a dark, bitter thought crossed my mind—was he putting on this gentle, affectionate performance just to show off for Sandra? His usual voice was nonchalant and confident, as if everything in the world was under his control. Tonight, his tenderness felt practiced. Rehearsed. Fake. I offered him a tight smile. "I'm fine." "If you're tired, don't force it," he whispered into my hair. "I'll call an Uber to take you home." "I'm not tired." Sandra suddenly let out a soft sigh. "God, I wish my boyfriend was half as attentive as you are, Darren." The table went quiet. Chad looked up, surprised. "Wait, you have a boyfriend?" "Yeah," Sandra said, looking down at her glass. "He's completing his residency over in London." I felt a sudden wave of relief wash through me. She had a boyfriend. But as I breathed out, I felt the hand Darren had placed on my waist suddenly tighten. Hard. Without a word, Darren picked up his tumbler of whiskey and slammed it back in one single, furious gulp. Sandra kept talking, spinning a romantic narrative about her life overseas. A few minutes later, Darren abruptly shoved his chair back. "You guys keep chatting. I need some air. Heading out for a smoke." Sandra looked at me in wide-eyed confusion. "Kallie, since when does Darren smoke again?" "He's always smoked," I said flatly. "Really? When we were in high school, I told him once that I hated the smell of tobacco, and he quit cold turkey the next day. I haven't seen him touch a cigarette since. I thought he was completely done with it." "Is that so?" "Yeah. You really should tell him to cut back, Kallie. It's so bad for his health." I stared at her coldly. "Don't give me advice, Sandra. You're older than me." Her smile faltered for a second. "Oh. Right. I couldn't tell." I stood up and walked out of the bar. Outside, Darren was standing beneath the amber glow of a streetlamp, his silhouette looking strangely solitary in the cool night air. I walked up to him slowly. "Darren," I said quietly. "Chad mentioned earlier that you used to chase Sandra back in high school. Is that true?" Darren took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a plume of blue smoke into the air. "Yeah. I did." He turned to look at me, completely unapologetic. "That was years ago, Kallie." "Right." "What, are you jealous?" He reached out, tilting my chin up with two fingers, his eyes amused and completely in control. "No." "Alright, that's enough," he said, dropping his hand. "Don't overthink things. Sandra has a boyfriend. You have nothing to worry about." "And if she didn't have a boyfriend?" I thought bitterly. "Would you drop me to run back to her?" I didn't ask. After a long pause, he threw his cigarette butt onto the pavement, crushed it with his shoe, and pulled me close. "Sunday is your actual birthday. I'm taking the whole day off. We'll go see that movie you've been talking about for weeks, just the two of us. How does that sound?" ... That Sunday—the day he promised would belong entirely to me—he spent the whole afternoon staring at his phone, his mind miles away. "Sandra is in a really bad place right now," he muttered suddenly as the movie credits rolled. "She's been crying nonstop. I should probably go check on her." I turned my head to look at him in the dim theater light. "There's still thirty minutes left of the movie, Darren. Can we just finish watching it together?" He let out a long, heavy sigh, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Fine. We'll finish it." When the house lights came up, Darren cupped my cheeks and pulled me into a kiss. In the past, his touch would send a surge of warmth through my chest. But right now, all I could hear was the phantom echoes of his voice: "Sandra's back. Sandra broke up." It echoed in my mind like a curse. Before we even reached the lobby, his phone buzzed. It was Sandra. Of course it was. "I need to take this," he said, already sliding his thumb across the screen before I could answer. Sandra's voice leaked through the speaker, ragged and breathless with tears. "Darren... I'm so miserable. I gave him everything, and he just blocked my number... Why is life so unfair?" Darren's jaw clenched, his tone instantly aggressive. "Is that bastard really worth ruining your life over?!" "I don't even want to live anymore..." "Listen to me, Sandra! Don't do anything stupid," Darren shouted into the phone, his heart rate visibly pounding against his throat. "Send me your location right now. I'm coming to get you." Outside the theater windows, a crack of thunder rattled the glass. A sharp, violent pain slammed through my chest. "Darren," I said, my voice steady, dangerously quiet. "She has other friends. Today is my birthday. I don't want you to go. If you walk out that door right now, do not ever come back to me." "Kallie, stop making a scene," Darren snapped, his voice frantic as he pulled his coat on. "Be reasonable. Just walk around the mall for an hour, okay? As soon as I get her settled, I'll come back for you. I can't let her do something crazy." Right on cue, the sky burst open, pouring sheets of torrential rain onto the city. Darren didn't hesitate for a single second. He pushed through the glass doors and bolted into the storm. He ran into the downpour with absolute devotion. But he wasn't running to me. He didn't know it then, but that single choice would become the greatest regret of his entire life. ... I walked around the shopping mall by myself for an hour, then went back to the box office and bought a ticket to a second movie. A comedy this time. On screen, the actors delivered punchline after punchline, trying desperately to make the audience laugh. I sat alone in the back row, and as I watched them, tears started rolling down my face. I laughed until I choked on my own sobs. I laughed at my own stupidity, and I wept for every piece of my heart that I had so foolishly surrendered to him. By the time I walked out of the theater, it was past eleven at night. My phone was completely dry. Not a single text from Darren. Two years ago, I had accidentally stumbled upon Darren's old, forgotten finsta account from high school. Reading through those old posts was like watching a ghost move through three years of unrequited love for Sandra. He had written about how he used to walk in the opposite direction during morning assemblies just to catch a glimpse of her face. He wrote about bringing her favorite coffee when she woke up late, and about getting suspended for getting into a fistfight with a guy who made an inappropriate joke about her. He had played the part of the reckless, devoted teenage hero, willing to burn the world down just to keep her warm. If those posts hadn't been written by my boyfriend, I probably would have been moved by the tragic beauty of his secret crush. On the night of their high school graduation, Sandra had rejected his confession and moved halfway across the country. His posts after that were dark and spiraling—months of heavy drinking, late nights, and hollow hookups until college started. His very last post read: "I'm finally letting you go, Sandra." When he asked me out a year later, I assumed he had healed. I didn't want to hold his past against him. Everyone has a history; as long as he was moving forward, that was all that mattered. I truly believed that genuine love would eventually earn genuine love in return. I poured everything I had into taking care of him. Now, watching him sprint through the rain to be by her side, I realized he had never moved on at all. I was never even in the same league as Sandra. I was just the placeholder. "I'm so tired, Darren." "I am so, so disappointed in you." ... The rain was heavy, blurring the streetlights into smudged halos of amber light. The streets were completely deserted. To get back to my apartment, I had to cut through a narrow, unlit alleyway near the edge of the shopping district. Halfway down the block, a man in a black vinyl raincoat turned the corner. He was walking fast, his head ducked low, but I could feel his eyes locked onto me. Instinct screamed at me to turn around. I spun on my heel, only to slam right into another man blocking the exit. He had a deep, jagged scar running across his cheek and sinister, bloodshot eyes. He leaned down, his breath reeking of stale beer and rotting teeth. "Where are you going in such a rush, sweetie?" he rasped, grinning grotesquely. "Saw you wandering around the mall all alone earlier. Why don't you let us keep you company?" My heart jumped straight into my throat. I forced my limbs to stay still, forcing my voice into a calm, steady register. "My boyfriend is meeting me right around the corner. I'm just waiting for him." "Is that right?" Scarface sneered, stepping closer. "Then why are your hands shaking so bad, little girl?" My hand was shoved deep into my coat pocket. My trembling fingers blindly unlocked my phone and dialed Darren's contact. "Please, Darren. Pick up. Please." I raised the phone to my ear, forcing my voice not to tremble. "Hey, babe! Yeah, I'm right here. Oh, you're almost here? Okay, I'll walk toward you..." I tried to push past them. The man in the raincoat lunged forward, grabbing my wrist and ripping the phone out of my grip. The screen glowed brightly in the dark alley. It showed the call screen—still ringing, unanswered. Scarface let out a low, terrifying laugh. "Nice act, sweetie. Boyfriend my ass." I turned to run, but Scarface grabbed me from behind, slamming a filthy, calloused hand over my mouth. I thrashing wildly, sheer terror paralyzing my lungs. The amber streetlights spun out of focus above me. Scarface leaned down, jamming my phone back into my bleeding fingers. "Go ahead," he hissed, pressing a cold, metallic blade against the side of my neck. "You like making calls? Call him. Call your fucking boyfriend. But don't you dare call anyone else. If he answers, I'll let you walk. If he doesn't..." My hands were shaking so violently I could barely hold the glass screen. First call: "Rejected." Second call: "Rejected." Third call: "The mobile number you are trying to reach has been switched off..." The rain poured down, hitting the pavement with a deafening roar. "Darren... please..." The two men burst into hysterical, booming laughter. Scarface grabbed my phone and hurled it against the brick wall, shattering the screen into pieces. Then, he shoved me hard onto the cold, wet pavement. My phone suddenly lit up from the puddle nearby, vibrating wildly with an incoming call—a ringtone that drew the attention of a young couple walking past the mouth of the alley. "Hey! What the hell are you doing over there?!" the guy shouted, holding up his flashlight. "I'm calling the cops!"
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